I wish Jesus described himself as the “donut of life” instead the “bread of life.” It just makes a little more sense that way. It would make my preaching easier too. That is what I want – I want a donut. We know that one does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God, so why not throw in some pastry goodness once in a while, God?

I live in a donut culture. It seems that we are no longer satisfied with that which daily satisfies unless it is sugared up. The majority of us are serving them right on up each and every Sunday.

Public confession time – I like donuts. I have traveled throughout the United States and Europe in search of the perfect donut. In each culture I tasted (along with a nice cup of coffee) simple and basic ingredients made up into the glorious thing we call the morning donut. By the way – the donut is like eating a piece of cake for breakfast, which is another one of my favorite things to do.  It was not on a snowy winter morning in Stockholm, or in a spring filled Paris coffee shop, or in Berlin’s smorgasbord of pastry shops that the best donut was found – oddly it is in the small bakery down the street from my childhood home. They don’t even have a place to sit down, let alone any sense of atmosphere – what they do have is phenomenal donuts. That is what they do and they do it well. They don’t want you hanging out all day getting in the way. Their whole vibe is get in, get your stuff, and get out because you are holding up the line.

A donut is quick and it is accessible. You eat it while you drive to work and hope not to spill the crème or junk in the middle down your shirt. Everyone at your office will judge you for being the person who couldn’t take two minutes to have a sensible breakfast and decided to be the dude who slurps donuts each morning. Welcome to Lazytown, we’ve been expecting you. But I just love donuts, don’t you? Once you taste it you know. It’s fresh, it’s good, and you want more of it.

Here is the problem: I can’t thrive on donuts. Sure, I might be able to survive but what kind of life is that? Donut in – donut energy out. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a donut a day – wait I just forgot what I was going to say because I fell asleep after my donut sugar crash. Jesus as the donut of life is appealing for us to sink our teeth into, to experience, and to believe in. The problem is that this Jesus leaves us with a similar sugar crash afterwards. The hard teachings or call of discipleship could leave a bad taste in our mouths.

Jesus does not give us the option for the donut of life. He talked about bread. Poor Jesus. I feel bad for him for not being able to experience the joy of donuts, but I guess that’s why he is so skinny and handsome in all of the paintings in my church. He is the bread, so we have to speak about the bread. Bread actually engages the body to produce the sugar that the body needs.

My father is going through a period in his life where he has to monitor his sugar and other stuff like that. For a period of time he gave up drinking beer and eating bread. I was shocked and amazed when he said the thing he missed the most was the bread. Who is this man and what have you done with my father? Sometimes we can take for granted the daily part of bread life. We understand how much we need it and miss it when it’s gone. Bread is actually more important than what we give it credit for. Just go to a restaurant with your pregnant spouse and watch their reaction if bread isn’t on the table in a jiffy. Bread is important.

God is in the midst of the normal – not just the fantastic, chocolate and sprinkled covered parts of life. God’s presence is made real when we take simple elements, like bread, and share it. This is why we should stick to what he invites us to do – offer the bread.

The 19^th century Methodist liturgist and theologian, Thomas O. Summers, contended that Methodists have “the best catechetical literature, at least in the English language.” [1] While I won’t spend much time defending his assertion, his claim is worth considering. For many, the word “catechesis” (if it is familiar at all) is merely a synonym for “confirmation.” Sadly, this perspective has contributed to the crisis in our church today. I find Summers’ writings about the topic helpful in thinking about the true nature of catechesis.

A Baptismal Life

Because the vast majority of baptisms in Summers’ context were those of infants or children, his catechetical focus was naturally on the young. His view of baptism was robust and he often referred to newly baptized children as being “placed in the school of Christ.”[2] For Summers, the responsibility of the faithful to the newly baptized begins, not ends, with baptism. This challenges the, at least implicit, belief that the culmination of the spiritual formation of children is “Confirmation Sunday.” Summers envisioned a much more robust, intentional, and extended process—one that begins, not ends, with baptism.

Not Merely Didactic

Summers understood catechesis to be a continuation of baptism; a process established and nourished within the context of worship. Catechesis is not simply a matter of teaching information about the faith. At its most essential level, catechesis functions to prepare the newly baptized for faithful participation in the worshipping community. Summers accurately notes:

The catechetical instructions of the ancients consisted chiefly of expositions of the Lord’s prayer, the ten commandments, and some creed or confession of faith. [3]

For much of the history of Church, these three elements—“The Creed,” “The Lord’s Prayer,” and “The Ten Commandments”—comprised the primary elements of congregational participation in worship. It was crucial that the newly baptized be prepared to actively participate in worship with a deep appreciation for the mystery of faith that is celebrated every Sunday.

In my experience little, if any, preparation is given to the newly baptized to equip them for active involvement in worship. Too often we simply assume that because a person has been present on Sundays, there is nothing the Church can or should do to deepen her participation in worship. “The ancients,” as Summers reminds us, understood that our engagement in worship is enhanced as we explore the richness of the prayers we pray, the songs we sing, the words we hear, and the bread we taste.

Catechesis, then, is not a matter of simply inputting spiritual or biblical concepts into the newly baptized, rather it is a process by which individuals are equipped to fully participate in the life of the worshipping community. When catechesis becomes divorced from full, conscious, and active participation in worship, the process becomes little more than rote memorization. On the other hand, when catechesis is understood as the way in which the newly baptized are integrated into the worshipping body, it becomes a much more dynamic concept. Catechesis is a continuation of the baptismal life, a process that is established and nourished within the context of worship.

A Clear Telos

As a Methodist Summers understood that catechesis played a central role in the process of Christian perfection. In his commentary on the Ritual of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, Summers writes that in baptism “all of its [the Church’s] members are pledged to holiness.”[4] When we witness a person, young or old, being baptized we all renew our commitment to holiness. Baptism begins the journey, catechesis equips the newly baptized to pursue Christian perfection through the means of grace, and the entire congregation shares in that mutual pledge.

Lyrical Catechesis

Let’s return to Summer’s claim about Methodist catechetical sources. A primary catechetical source that Summers consistently upheld was the Methodist hymnal—particularly the hymns of Charles Wesley. Summers understood that, more often than not, our beliefs are most shaped by what we sing. As a Methodist, Summers turned to the rich tradition of the Wesleyan hymns as a primary resource for catechesis.

I am convinced that Wesley’s hymns can still have significant impact in our contemporary contexts, but they require the work of a catechist to (re)introduce them to many of our congregations. No other protestant denomination has such a treasury of hymns covering a range of topics like the nature of God (the Trinity, etc.), the way of salvation (personal and cosmic), and sacramental theology—just to name a few. In light of this rich and often untapped resource, Summers’ claim seems to be in order.

If contemporary Methodists are serious about robust catechesis, we must broaden our concept of the term. We must understand that baptism is a moment that shapes our entire life—a journey in holiness. We must break free from an approach to catechesis that is merely didactic and understand that the process of catechesis is anchored in the worshipping community. And we need look no further than our own tradition for what is, perhaps, the preeminent Wesleyan catechetical resource: the Wesleyan hymns.

[1]“Brief Reviews,” Methodist Quarterly Review 14 (October 1860): 600.

[2]Commentary on the Ritual, 34.

[3]The Sunday-school Teacher; Or, The Catechetical Office (Richmond/Louisville: John Early for the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, 1853), 10.

[4]Commentary, 51

When you hear the term “discipleship” what comes to mind? An educational program for adults in your church? The reflective/debriefing group sessions during a mission trip? A moment to promote a given ministry or event during the worship service? A particular pastor who serves at a multi-staffed church?

Each one of us can probably come up with three or four examples of discipleship that all look different from each other – and hopefully each example contributes to the same idea – that discipleship is how we live our Christian lives in love and service to God so that we are an example of God’s love in the world.

Wesley’s Take on Discipleship

The truth is, as much as contemporary Wesleyans talk about making disciples and doing discipleship, John Wesley rarely used the term “disciple.” For him, the term was synonymous with being a Christian or being an eighteenth-century Methodist. In his tract, “The Character of a Methodist,” John Wesley discussed what made those pioneer Methodists identifiable to the rest of the world. Wesley said it was not the things that early Methodists did or said, but rather that a person loved God with their heart, mind, soul and strength (Mark 12:30).

Through loving God so completely, a Methodist found contentment in God, trusted God for every need, prayed and sought after God so that the lives they lived in attitude and action were consistent with God’s love for the world. In the next to last paragraph of the tract, Wesley remarks that being a Methodist is really nothing new to the world and was simply the “common principles of Christianity – the plain, old Christianity that I teach, renouncing and detesting all other marks of distinction.” In other words, being an eighteenth-century Methodist means to be a Christian – to be a follower of Jesus Christ in any age or era.

According to Wesley, being a Christian disciple is an all encompassing endeavor. Using the customary gender-specific language of his day, Wesley describes a Christian disciple as follows:

[H]e is a Christian, not in name only, but in heart and in life. He is inwardly and outwardly conformed to the will of God, as revealed in the written word. He thinks, speaks, and lives, according to the method laid down in the revelation of Jesus Christ. His soul is renewed after the image of God, in righteousness and in all true holiness. And having the mind that was in Christ, he so walks as Christ also walked.

Methodists, or Christians, are characterized by patterning their lives after Christ and being renewed, transformed into Christlikeness as they continually follow Christ’s example.

Contemporary Implications

Two remarkable things stand out when reading Wesley’s tract. First, Wesley does not discuss what activities, actions or ministries early Methodists – or Christian disciples – do. Actually, the only activity he explicitly mentions in the whole tract is prayer; which is as much action as it is an attitude for preforming acts of mercy and piety in this world, i.e. by acting prayerfully.

The other remarkable thing is closely related and has to do with the title itself: “The Character of a Methodist.” Notice Wesley did not title it “Programs of a Methodist” or “Ministries of A Methodist” or even “Moments of a Methodist.” The fact that he talks about the distinguishing marks or characteristic qualities of Methodists makes me wonder why contemporary Wesleyans are prone to discuss discipleship as a program, or a ministry area, or a focus moment in our worship services when Wesley saw things quite differently. To be either an eighteenth century Methodist or a contemporary Christian disciple is actually characterized by a way of living in this world which qualifies the way (or manner in which persons do things in this world) for the sake of God’s Kingdom.

Christian Character Demonstrates Our Discipleship

Make no mistake, in order to demonstrate our love for God and offer it to others, Christian disciples will be engaged in activities and actions in this world. But those activities and actions are not in and of themselves our “discipleship.” After all, many activities and actions Christians do in this world – feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, offering aid in times of crisis – look just like what other well-intentioned, caring persons do in this world. Christian discipleship is characterizing how we engage in activities in this world that demonstrates the love of God to this world. Christian discipleship is about living in such a way that we distinguish ourselves as followers of Jesus from those that do similar things out civic duty, moral obligation, or humanitarian aid. Christian discipleship is not so much about doing something – or anything – at all.

Christian discipleship is being a follower of Jesus and living in a manner consistent with Christ’s example even when we are hanging out with friends, stuck in traffic, or surfing the internet. We do not “do discipleship’ as much as we “demonstrate discipleship” by letting Christ’s character infuse our daily actions and lives so that others might know Christ by the way we live.

I’ll bet there are roads you could drive blindfolded if you really needed to.

Maybe it’s the road from your house to the entrance of your subdivision, or the route you take to work, or the circuitous path you carve in your daily routine – stop, start, turn, pause, start again. The rhythm of acceleration, brake, the swing of the vehicle as you round a curve – commuters, too, know the rhythm of train stations and bus stops, so that travel becomes second nature.

We see the construction workers and construction equipment so big it nearly qualifies as a building on treads that squelch their way through mud and we think we build roads; oh, maybe not you and me. But our proxies are out in all weather spreading hot asphalt and leveling hills, that’s us – that’s Our Civilization Out There Building Roads. We think we build the roads.

I think the roads build us.

Recently I returned to central Kentucky, where I had lived for several years. I’d been away a while, and when I came back I was confronted with a new highway snaking through the rolling horse farms where an old one used to be; safer, undoubtedly, but out of sync with the old drive.

It was disorienting. I found glimpses of familiarity in unfamiliar proximity and proportion. Finally I discovered remnants of the old highway remained, running parallel to the new installation, and immediately pulled onto the original road. My body relaxed. Here was a landmark. There was a familiar farm. I knew the curves of the aged tumbling stone wall that marked old boundaries. The lift of the hills, the force of the turns – it was almost like muscle memory.

Hikers will tell you to leave your surroundings as untouched as possible, to preserve nature, to protect wildlife. But whatever trail you take, you won’t remain untouched. The path itself will have shaped you in some way.

Maybe that’s part of the reason that, over and over again, God reminded the Israelites to tear down the high places – those elevated perches of idolatry. Those paths needed to grow over and be forgotten. Those trails needed to be neglected; new roads needed to be established. Those muscles needed new memories. We hear stories of absent-minded drivers accidentally driving to their old place of work, or their old house – the same principle.

We think we shape the landscape, but the roads are shaping us.

How is it that the angle of a foot planted on a sidewalk can feel familiar? But it can. And the angle of the soul is similarly directed and shaped.

What roads are shaping you? The sentimental route to a loved ones’ house? The familiar trip to Sunday worship? The freeway journey to your job? The worn path trailing down to a beloved grave that you tend? The swaying course of a city bus to night class?

It’s best to be mindful of what roads are shaping you. Roads can be sly, shifting you this way and that when you’re lulled into complacency. Once, while driving, I mindlessly followed the person I was supposed to be following, only to look up and discover I’d been led past a Do Not Enter sign and was driving headfirst into oncoming traffic.

Examine your roads.

They shape you when you’re not looking.

And as pilgrims, we’re called to be mindful travelers.

There is a hunger in the church for meaningful community, where people can find support and comfort from others as they seek to grow in faith in the midst of the spectacular, tragic, and mundane events of real life. When I talk with church leaders about the importance of small group formation for Christian discipleship, people typically agree that small groups are important and that their churches would benefit from more small groups focused on life change. But they want to know how this kind of community can be created.

This question has come up repeatedly, for example, when I talk with church leaders about the role of class meetings in early Methodism, and my belief that they are of ongoing significance for contemporary Christianity. Class meetings were small groups that had seven to twelve people in them and met weekly to answer the question, “How does your soul prosper?” (Or, how is your life in God?) These groups were of such importance in early Methodism that for decades they were a basic requirement for membership. They were a key place where people learned about their need for salvation in Christ and the reality that salvation is freely offered to all through faith in the amazing grace of God. They also helped forge a deep sense of community as Methodists found faith in Christ and pursued a deeper relationship with the Triune God. (For more about the class meeting and how to start groups like these, check out my recent book The Class Meeting: Reclaiming a Forgotten (and Essential) Small Group Experience.)

Attending to basic tasks like training class leaders, gathering the critical mass needed to start a class meeting, and casting vision to start groups that are focused on a particularly Wesleyan approach to communal formation is essential. And I address these and other practical aspects of starting class meetings from the ground up in my recent book.

And yet, I’ve realized that when people ask questions about the basic process of starting class meetings, they are not just asking about the very practical details of how to start a class meeting. There often appear to be questions behind these questions. Do people really want this kind of community? Would others really want to be a part of my life in this way? And would they actually let me into their lives?

When people do get a taste of healthy Christian community, it is often like water in a dry land. It is quickly absorbed and serves to make one more aware of a deep longing to be known, seen, heard, cared for, and most of all loved. Many Christian are hungry for this kind of connection with others.

To be honest, creating this kind of community is also very difficult. It takes time – lots of time – and effort. It takes consistency and intentionality that are often only given to one’s immediate family. The challenge increases because many Christians aren’t used to talking to each other about their relationship with God at all, much less bringing major life decisions, or the things they are most ashamed of or struggle with to a group. Pastors and lay leaders, then, raise questions about the feasibility of groups like the class meeting because they are aware of just how wide the gap is between the ideal form of Christian community and the current reality of most of the people in their church.

The class meeting is ideally suited for just such a context. The class meeting helps people who are more comfortable keeping their faith to themselves than discussing it with others, but who do have a desire for deeper connection with other Christians to take a step. It is a step that a leader can reasonably expect someone to take without getting in over their heads. But it is also a step that will help the person begin to experience the kind of community for which God created each of us.

I am increasingly convinced that two essential ingredients to a successful small group are a willingness by all group members to be vulnerable with each other and a willingness to invest meaningful time in the group. Class meetings help people grow in significant ways in both areas. As people begin to learn to talk about their relationship with God with each other, they make themselves vulnerable. And as they commit to a weekly one hour meeting, they take a step toward investing time in others and allow others to invest in them.

The Christian life was never intended to be lived in isolation from others. I have found time and time again that God uses other people to bless my life and help me grow in my faith. This should not come as a surprise because the doctrine of the Trinity expresses the basic Christian belief that God’s essence is a community of self-giving love between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Working towards this kind of community is challenging. But those who have experienced the benefits of healthy Christian community can testify that the benefits far outweigh the challenges.

My hope is that the church will increasingly pave the way for all Christians to experience deeper community with their brothers and sisters in the faith.

It’s so awkward…

Your spouse meets someone while they’re out. “The kids play so well together.” She says. “He’s pretty cool.” He tells you. “We’re alike in so many ways, it’s funny.” She says. “By the way, they’re coming over on Sunday.”

So, they had a connection. Now, you are forced into trying to achieve the same connection with the other spouse…who probably feels just as awkward about things as you do. Yet, neither of you dare mention it. You know better. Plus, it really wouldn’t help matters.

Sometimes, the connection comes. It’s a relief when it does. You like the same struggling sports team (Let’s Go Mountaineers?!). You drink the same soda. Whatever it is, sometimes it’s a fit. It’s great when that happens.

Then, there are those other times…

Sometimes, it just doesn’t work. You plan, you try, you fail. Your attempt at conversation is met by a lackluster, “yup” and you know it’s gonna be a long day.

It reminds me of the current model of evangelism we have in the church.

Let me explain:

We want our congregation to grow, so we invite people to church. We have evangelism plans designed to add to the church. We ask people to volunteer in the church. We have people give to the church. We have folks make commitments to the church. We ask people to join the church so they can be members of the church. If we’re successful with all this inviting to church and asking for church, we basically end up creating people for church – church people.

Then, when these church people begin to act petty, when they argue over ridiculous things that don’t really matter, when feelings get hurt and dysfunction becomes king, we ask, “Why? How? The church was growing, why are people acting like this?”

But how could they not?

All we’ve done is invite them to bring their baggage, their selfishness and everything else, into a camp meeting that’s already so full of nasty baggage it looks more like a landfill than a church. And that’s when we ask Jesus to step in…and it’s just plain awkward. If, as the Bible says, the Church is the bride of Christ, it’s exactly like your husband or wife inviting the other couple to your house.

Up until now we haven’t really talked about Jesus. We didn’t tell people about the transformational nature of Jesus. We didn’t talk about self-sacrifice. We invited people to become church members, not Jesus-followers.

And that’s what we got. Now, Jesus is saying, “So, what am I supposed to talk to her about? You’ve invited them to be in church. They’ve been there for years and sit on your boards. They’re your friend. You didn’t ask my opinion before now. What do you want me to do?”

Luckily, Jesus can step in and fix things.

I’ve got a plan to avoid all the headaches, angry emails, heated meetings, and sleepless nights. It won’t fix everything, but I think it’s a huge first step:

Stop inviting people to church! Stop it! Right Now!

Don’t invite people to your church. We know the results of that. It rarely works anyway. Even when people actually show up, most don’t stick around for long. They sense the discontentment. They recognize the troubles. They head for the door.

Invite them, instead, to follow Jesus. No, it’s not the same thing. Following Jesus means I’m not the most important person in the world…not even in this room…even when I’m alone.

Following Jesus is about turning over my desires, my wants, my needs to him. It’s about putting to death my own selfishness, narcissism, greed, desire for control, etc. When we follow Jesus, things change, churches become places of hope, restoration, and redemption, and communities are transformed.

It’s a game-changer. Meetings become inspiring, evangelism becomes more about the Kingdom of God than it does about growing a local congregation, marriages are healed, chains of addiction are broken, and death gives way to life! Following Jesus is exciting stuff!

Don’t mistake what I’m saying. We need to be connected to other believers. The best way to do that is through a local congregation. I’m in the beginning stages of starting a new church, so I am surely not anti-church. I just realize there are more important things…like Jesus.

I want people to come to the church. I want every church to be filled. I just want them to be filled with, and invited to become, Jesus followers and not church members.

So instead of inviting people to church, let’s invite them to follow Jesus.

I recently returned from a two-week trip to Nigeria. I will be processing my experiences there for quite some time, but one encounter impressed me greatly and returned to my mind when I read a recent post by John Meunier – We Are All Disabled. Like John, my thoughts are not fully formed on the theological issues raised by disability – I’ve never been encouraged to actually contemplate it. But for some reason, I keep returning to it as a significant topic of reflection. While in Lagos, my conversation with Ayuba Buri Gufram intensified that interest.

Ayuba contracted polio as a child and has never walked upright on his feet. Instead, at least until he was a young adult, he crawled on the ground like most other polo survivors in Nigeria. Unlike others, however, his family kept him in their home rather than turning him out to survive alone by begging, or, as some families do, place him as an apprentice with a more experienced beggar in order to develop his skills, before then turning him out to go solo. Rather than these options, Ayuba’s family kept him at home. He was able to go to school for a while, but the fees were expensive and his father did not see the need to continue to send him.

The turning point came when Ayuba was able to obtain a wheelchair. That was a game changer. He was able to go to school for the first time in years, he met his future wife, and he discovered his life mission – to give polio survivors the opportunity to stop crawling on the ground.

Ayuba founded Beautiful Gate, an organization dedicated to building uniquely designed wheelchairs for children disabled by polio. This is definitely a cause worth supporting, but that’s not what I want to explore here.

The name, Beautiful Gate, is taken from the story of Peter and the crippled beggar in Acts 3. Peter and John go to the temple for prayers and encounter a crippled beggar at the entrance area called The Beautiful Gate. Every day this man’s friends would bring him to the Beautiful Gate where he would beg for money. The climax of the story is when Peter heals this man, and rightly so. But from Ayuba’s perspective two other details are significant.

First, the man’s friends brought him to the Beautiful Gate each day. For Ayuba, that was a sign of caring and devotion. But his next question is a valid one: Why did they leave him at the gate? Why not take him all the way in? Did they not understand that he had spiritual needs as well?

Now I understand that there are all kinds of scholarly answers to Ayuba’s question – laws about purity, understandings of sin, disease, and punishment. But those scholarly answers make his question even more poignant, did they not understand that he had spiritual needs?

For Ayuba, the fact that the beggar had spiritual needs is emphasized by what happens when Peter heals him – the man immediately enters the temple praising God. Certainly, his praise is appropriate; after all, he’s just been healed. As significant as the healing is, however, Ayuba goes on to ask another question: Might the man have wanted to praise God before he was healed? Each day, as he sat outside the temple, might he have wanted to bring all kinds of things to God in worship and prayer – his praise, his supplication, his intercession?

Obviously the beggar’s healing is worthy of praise, and it provides the opportunity for Peter to preach to the crowd that gathers, which is of course, a main focus of the overall story. But what about the man? Was he only defined by his crippled condition, which others determined placed him outside the context of worship? Was he only defined by his crippled condition, which others assumed gave him no reason to praise?

Ayuba left me much to think about. My tendency is to move to the theoretical – to ask wide open questions like, as Christians, who are we leaving at the gate? Or, what are our preconceived notions about praise and our reasons for offering it? Those are good questions, worthy of contemplation and conversation.

But Ayuba is less interested in the theoretical than the practical. And so he asks, what about this man, this crippled beggar who is sitting at the gate, this man with spiritual needs and reasons for praise? What about him? And I’m left thinking that’s where I need to start as well.

This statement sounds counterintuitive, but I love Ash Wednesday.

“What?” you might think. “How could anyone love a day set apart for repentance?”

Actually, that’s one reason that makes this day special and, in a sense, worth loving—one reason among many that this is a day to observe wholeheartedly. I love Ash Wednesday for at least three reasons.

First, Ash Wednesday interrupts our normal schedule with a piercing call for us to remember our mortality and mourn our sins. Like the shrill cacophony of an alarm clock, it wakes us up out of our spiritual slumber. There is no concealing our ungodliness on Ash Wednesday, no time for prideful pretending. No, our souls are laid bare, our self-constructed façades of righteousness shattered. On this day, in a way unlike any other, the church boldly beckons us to repent and believe the Gospel. As strange as it may sound, I love that about Ash Wednesday.

Second, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, the season of focusing with particular clarity on the significance of the suffering and cross of Christ for our salvation. Because it reminds us of the forty days that Jesus fasted and prayed for us, Ash Wednesday is a fitting time for us to fast and pray in the way of Jesus. In an age when we usually try to avoid suffering at all costs, Ash Wednesday helps us see the redemptive value of the suffering of Jesus for us, and that profound truth casts our own inevitable suffering in a new light. I love that about Ash Wednesday as well.

Third, Ash Wednesday prepares us to celebrate more fully the joy of Easter. That, of course, is ultimately the point—for us to be drawn into the saving mystery of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection as we observe the season of self-examination and repentance that begins on this holy day. On Ash Wednesday, we recall through word and ritual, and even rejoice in, the fact that the Lord our God can bring new life out of the ashes of our brokenness. Death gives way to life, and the ashes on our foreheads bear the sign of the cross, which is the supreme symbol of God’s victory for us in the crucified and risen Christ. This, most of all, is what I love about Ash Wednesday.

These reasons and others find poetic expression in a great hymn of our faith by Claudia F. Hernaman:

Lord, who throughout these forty days
for us didst fast and pray,
teach us with thee to mourn our sins
and close by thee to stay.

As thou with Satan didst contend,
and didst the victory win,
O give us strength in thee to fight,
in thee to conquer sin.

As thou didst hunger bear, and thirst,
so teach us, gracious Lord,
to die to self, and chiefly live
by thy most holy word.

And through these days of penitence,
and through thy passiontide,
yea, evermore in life and death,
Jesus, with us abide.

Abide with us, that so, this life
of suffering over past,
an Easter of unending joy
we may attain at last.